Word count: 300

The Undertaker slid his hand over the lid of the small coffin. He was proud of his work: the perfectly chosen tiles of wood, the unscathed smooth surface of the lid covering the hollow and the lies beneath. So perfect, like a glass dome built around a delicate flower to delay the rotting of the once living matter inside. His lips pulled, revealing a pearly grin, shards of silver obscuring his dreaming eyes. The scent of the cedar was intoxicating. His nostrils flared in a familiar thrill.

The march started. The mausoleum gates opened as the casket was driven inside. There were people clad in black, their earthly indifference slipping through their anxious faces, their tears as shallow as the puddles left by a drizzling rain. Why are they crying, he wondered, they who face the world of the living with absent-minded indulgence? And the dead, they won't rise again. Not even him.

The lid was open, cruel hands ripping away the shell protecting him, confining the extent of his non-existence. The alabaster skin that belonged to him no more gleamed under the rays of the mocking sun. So beautiful, tended with minute care, nails polished and trimmed, skin powdered to fake the rosy hue he did not carry even while living. The ceremony was ideally orchestrated, the derisive music rousing according to the preparations; all was set with expert precision. His skin crawled in joyful agony as the final moments approached. The weeping and the sobbing, the choir of the dead, soared higher. And then his lithe body was covered, his vain petty existence obliterated as the ceremony put a final stop to the story of his life and death. A perfect cycle was closed and his soul dispatched to oblivion. He laughed.

How did you like that, Earl?

Thank you xXxBloodDeathLovexXx for your wonderful suggestions!

Phew, writing short fics is quite time-comsuming. I guess I'll be back to the oneshots for now XD

Please comment!